Belittle
by thesweeper1957
Summary: What if Penny was not Inspector Gadget's niece? What if she was a secret agent sent by a spy organization to help him? And while we're on this train of thought: What if several different girls were used in this capacity over the years? This is the story of one of those girls; what happened before, during and after her tenure with Inspector Gadget.


**Belittle**

 **Chapter One: Pulled In**

The girl in the mirror was smirking. I eyed her suspiciously while I made myself presentable. Just because Johnny, the smart, popular and handsome president of our senior class at Franklin High, and member in good standing of that very special clique which every school possesses, left a note in my locker was no reason to get worked up. "It's not romantic or anything," I insisted. "He just wants to talk to me about something, okay?" That being said, I was curious; and anyone who knows me will tell you, I'm a curious sort of person.

Metro City Park was awash with pleasure seekers that pleasant sunny day in May of 1983. People wearing comical aprons were grilling burgers and dogs and all that sort of thing, while others congregated around picnic tables or lounged on blankets and towels. Laughter and screeching sounds emanated from the playground. The more physically motivated moved at various speeds around the park on a concrete track. I hid myself in the middle of a group of mothers with strollers. At one point along the track, two benches had been placed back to back. Johnny was sitting on one of those benches, eating a hamburger and sipping a soda through a straw. A paper bag was on the bench behind him. I inched the bag over and took a seat. "The Happy Meal is yours," he said. I picked up the bag, took out a fry and nibbled. "Don't turn around," he continued. "Don't acknowledge me in any way. We can't be too careful."

This delicious bit of cloak and dagger delighted me. I was on pins and needles.

A group of senior citizens strolled by on the track. They were discussing various maladies. When they were out of earshot, Johnny asked, "What are you doing after graduation?"

I frowned at the question. It didn't fit the situation. "I don't know," I said, with a shrug. "College, I suppose."

"Have you ever thought of being a spy?"

Silly me for jumping to conclusions. Now there was a question worthy of the moment. I took some time to mull it over. Detective and spy novels were my passion, but the thought of being a real spy or detective had never crossed my mind. I asked, "Is that a serious question?"

"Look in the toy."

 _Look in the toy?_ I rummaged through the bag and located a plastic toy cat. When I opened up the back of the toy, I found a note inside. After reading the note, I whispered, "Is this CIA?"

"More secret than that," was his answer.

"MI6? Interpol?"

"More secret."

"Is it legit?"

"Yes."

He jumped to his feet and hurried off, wadding up and tossing his empty bag in a trashcan along the way.

Alone with my thoughts, I wondered where he got the idea that I could be a spy. I was certain I had kept my penchant for snooping and tattling under wraps.

 **Chapter Two: No Turning Back**

From the age of ten I bounced around from foster home to foster home. Every foster parent asked the same question: "Why haven't you been adopted?" The truth is, I didn't want to be adopted. I opposed it at every turn. After eight years, the death of my parents was still an open wound. How dare they explore the Congo without me! They should have brought me along so we could all die together.

There were two blue and green striped polo shirts in the fast-food restaurant that day. Naturally, I picked the wrong one. The man was thin; I mean, really thin. A mop of brown hair framed his thin face and a goatee settled on his thin chin like fungus on a rock. He was sitting in a booth next to a thick-set woman with short dark hair and glasses. A boy and a girl were on the other side of the table. The girl was skinny with long dark hair. The boy was stocky with hair that was light brown and curly. They were well into their meal. Food, drink and paper wrappings littered the table.

I approached the man. "Excuse me, sir," I said. "Are you a pirate?"

"A pirate?" he said. "Aye, missy. That I am. Arr."

"No, no, no, that wasn't right."

"Hey!" he yelled, as I walked away. "What was wrong with that?"

The other blue and green striped polo shirt was covering the torso of a young man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. He was alone in a booth. A paper bag was on the table in front of him.

I walked up and stood beside him. "Excuse me, sir." I said. "Are you a pirate?"

"A pirate?" he said. "Aye, missy. That I am. Arr."

The thin man was following close behind me. "Hey!" he said. "That's exactly what I did."

"No, sir," I said. "You shut the wrong eye."

"Shut the…? Hey, like what's going on?"

"We're having a secret meeting," said the young man with wavy blond hair.

"A secret meeting?"

"Yeah, we're spies."

"Spies? Ha, ha, ha, you kids and your games. Ha, ha, ha, don't let me interrupt. Ha, ha, ha…"

Minutes later, we could still hear him laughing from across the room.

"Have a seat," said the young man with wavy blond hair.

I climbed into the booth opposite him and asked, "What's your name?"

"You can call me Pierre. The Happy Meal is yours, by the way." He pushed the bag across the table.

The boy with curly brown hair tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey," he said, "will you play with me in the playground?"

"Okay," I said. "After I eat."

"Yay!" He ran off excited.

Pierre was grinning ear to ear.

I asked, "Is something funny?"

"That little boy has a crush on you."

"Tell me, are you related to Mickey Rooney?"

The smile left his face. "Did you have to say that?"

"Sorry."

"Listen, I wasn't trying to be insulting."

"Perhaps I am a little too sensitive."

"Perhaps."

"Do you really want me to be a spy?"

"Yes."

"Where do I sign up?"

"You already signed up."

"I did?"

"When you made the phone call."

"When I made the phone call? What if I backed out?"

"We'd have to kill you."

"Kill me?"

"Ha, ha, ha, just kidding."

"Don't do that!"

"Sorry, spy humor."

"Sorry spy humor is right."

He motioned with his hand for me to move closer. I climbed up on my knees and leaned over the table. He whispered, "Don't be surprised."

"And…?"

"That's all I can tell you." He scooted out of the booth and stood by the table. "One more thing."

I kicked my feet out and plopped back down onto the seat with a bounce. "Yes?"

"Triennium."

"Triennium?"

"You'll understand when the time comes."

After he was gone, I began to unpack the Happy Meal. "Another toy cat," I muttered. "I wonder if that means anything."

The boy with curly brown hair returned to my table. He climbed into the seat recently vacated by Pierre and asked, "Why are you taking so long?"

"I like to enjoy my food, if you don't mind."

"Did your big brother leave you alone?"

"He had something to do."

"Where do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school around here."

"I wish you were in my class."

"Why?"

"I like you."

"What grade are you in?"

"Second."

"I'm too old for you."

"Too old? Are you one of those snotty third graders?"

"Snotty third graders?"

"They think they're so grown up. They make me sick."

"Are you talking about your sister?"

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"I'll show her I can be grown up too."

"No hurry. Enjoy your childhood."

"You sound like my mom."

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Want some fries?"

"Can I?"

"Have as many as you like."

 **Chapter Three: Under the Radar**

The girl in the mirror had blond hair and pigtails. I pointed at her and demanded, "Who are you?" She made the same demand of me. "Not talking, eh?" When I moved, she moved with me. "Would you cut that out?" We were getting nowhere fast. I rushed up close to the mirror to get a better look. She did the same. "You look familiar," we said. "Do I know you?" In a huff, I twirled around and crossed my arms. A blond pigtail hit me right between the eyes. I grabbed it and gave it the once over. A chill ran up and down my spine. This may seem a little farfetched, but sometime in the middle of the night a brunette became a blond. I know, I know, it happens all the time, but my hair wasn't dyed; I swear it wasn't dyed. "Don't be surprised indeed," I muttered. "Easy for him to say."

It was at that moment when I finally took note of my surroundings. "What?" I said. "Where am I?" I dashed out of the bathroom and tripped over a sleeping dog in the hallway. "Oof! Ouch!" Rolling over, I picked myself up off the floor, ran to a widow and snapped open the curtains. Nothing outside or inside the house was recognizable to me. "Where in the world am I?"

A loud yawn startled me. I spun around. A man in pajamas and night cap was shuffling sleepily across the living room. He had a long face, a big nose and shaggy hair. "Up already, Penny?" he mumbled. Before I could find an answer, he was in the bathroom and the door was closed. I took several deep breaths to try and slow my racing heart. Then I tiptoed around the sleeping dog and went back to the bedroom where I had awakened earlier that morning.

In the bedroom, I flipped on a light and had a look around. The room was furnished with a twin bed, a dresser, and a desk. The wallpaper was light pink with dark pink vertical stripes. Stuffed animals were scattered about and a dollhouse sat on the floor in a corner. I pulled up a chair in front of the desk. The top of the desk held the usual assortment of pens, pencils, paper, et cetera; very neatly arranged. A canvas satchel had been placed on the top of the desk. Inside the satchel were a computer book and a watch. While I was picking up the watch, I accidentally pushed the wrong button and burnt a little whole in the wall with a laser. "Gosh!" I said. "Th-that's dangerous."

In the top drawer of the desk I found a diary. The diary contained a lovely story about a girl named Penny, her Uncle Gadget, her dog Brain, her school, her friends, et cetera. I read through it with interest. However, her description of her uncle defied logic. Helicopters and umbrellas in his hat? Skies and roller skates in his shoes? An inflatable trench-coat? It was all too fantastic to believe, until I saw it for myself.

The aforesaid uncle was wearing a suit, a trench-coat and a fedora while frying eggs and bacon at the stove. Smoke was wafting out of the toaster and frying pan. He called out, "Good morning, Penny. Beautiful morning, isn't it?" when I walked into the kitchen.

I coughed and waved smoke away from my face with my hand. "Good morning, Uncle Gadget," I said. "I don't know if it's beautiful. I can't see it." A step-stool was leaning against a wall. I set it up, climbed up on the top step and rummaged through the cabinets until I found a box of oat cereal and a bowl. The milk was in the refrigerator. Yes, of course I double checked to make sure it wasn't out of date before I used it.

My initial encounter with Uncle Gadget's gadgets came soon after. When a hand popped out of his hat and buttered his burnt toast, I let out an involuntary little scream. Brain, who had been sleeping on the floor by the kitchen door, perked up and looked at me suspiciously. I pretended I had the hiccups. He trotted over to me, sniffed several times and said, "Huh?"

The oddness of the morning only escalated from there. When Uncle Gadget opened the refrigerator door, a face appeared. It was a pudgy face with a receding hairline and a large mustache. A pipe was sticking out of its mouth. No, the face wasn't in the refrigerator when I got the milk out a few minutes earlier. I swear it wasn't.

A phone rang. Uncle Gadget pulled an antenna out of his thumb. "Is that you Chief?" he said into his hand. "You're where?"

A muffled voice in the refrigerator said, "In here, Gadget."

Uncle Gadget opened the refrigerator door. "Chief, what are you doing in there?"

"Gadget," said the face in the refrigerator, "here's your assignment."

Uncle Gadget took a rolled up piece of paper out of the pipe, unrolled it, and read the message. After reading the message, he wadded up the paper, threw it into the refrigerator and closed the door. A few seconds later, I heard, "Oh no!" Shortly after, there was a loud boom, and the refrigerator door blew open and fell off of its hinges. Smoke wafted out of the refrigerator. The singed and charred face inside the refrigerator groaned, "Why do I put up with him?"

Uncle Gadget didn't see or hear the explosion. He had already left the kitchen. I said something which I must have said a thousand times thereafter. I said, "Follow him, Brain."

With that, we were off and running. Our main adversary was Dr. Claw and a criminal organization called MAD. I never actually encountered Dr. Claw, but I did have many encounters with his agents. I'm happy to say, Uncle Gadget, Brain and I were responsible for the incarceration of many a MAD agent. Unfortunately, Dr. Claw never seemed to run out.

Uncle Gadget, known to most folks as Inspector Gadget, was a police inspector for the Metro City Police Department. Even though he was just a Metro City Police inspector, he investigated crimes all over the world. Why? I don't know. I never asked. He took me and Brain along on most of his cases. If he didn't take us, we found another way. Each case took place in some exotic locale, and each locale had its own unique challenges. Despite the challenges, I considered myself very lucky. Normal girls don't get to do the things that I did. For example: I flew a fighter jet, discovered a lost city of gold, shut down a runaway mechanical Loch Ness Monster in the nick of time, piloted a submarine, et cetera, et cetera. However, it wasn't all fun and games. I faced many dangers along the way. For example: I was hung by a rope over a volcano, almost crushed by a giant coo-coo clock, almost drowned while scuba diving, almost burnt alive by a fire-breathing dragon, et cetera, et cetera. I faced a veritable panoply of perils. How did I escape, you ask? Was it steely-eyed courage and ingenuity? No, not really. Most of the time Brain pulled my little butt out of the fire.

Perhaps you're wondering how I got along with Uncle Gadget. We got along okay, I guess. I had no complaints. I mean, how many uncles take their nieces all around the world? That's pretty cool, right? The lack of meaningful dialogue was a small price to pay. No, that's not really fair. One day in May of 1986 we did have an interesting conversation.

When I came home from school, Uncle Gadget was sitting on the couch watching TV. I sat next to him, expecting to veg out. He noticed me and turned off the TV. "Penny," he said, "I heard a rumor about you."

"A rumor, Uncle Gadget?"

"But it's so ridiculous I…"

"What kind of rumor?"

"Do you really want to hear it?"

"Yes."

"I heard… I can't believe I'm saying this. I heard that you're a spy. Can you believe it? A spy."

"Uncle Gadget, it's true. I am a spy. I work for an international spy organization."

A smile spread over his face. "A spy? You? Ha, ha, ha, you look so serious. Ha, ha, ha, I like that. You could give Buster Keaton a run for his money. Ha, ha, ha, ha, that is so funny. Ha, ha, ha, ha…" While he was in the throes of merriment, I went to my room, fetched my diary, and brought it to him. To his credit, he read through it carefully.

During the interval, I grabbed The Three Musketeers off the bookshelf, found my place and began to read. When he shut the diary, I closed my book and looked over at him.

"Penny," he said, "this is very well done. I am impressed. I do, however, have a few critiques. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I said. "Critique away."

"While the little girl hero and the bumbling detective might appeal to younger readers, it is not at all accurate. By the way, did you have to call him Gadget?"

"I called him Gadget because, like you, he has gadgets."

"There are synonyms for gadget. Perhaps Lieutenant Appliance or Officer Contraption or…"

"Professor Gizmo."

"Professor Gizmo?" He shook his head and grimaced. "No, no, no, he couldn't do it."

"What about an archaeologist?"

"An archaeologist? Like that fellow from Indiana?"

"Yeah."

"He doesn't have gadgets."

"He has a whip."

"A handy tool, a whip." With a faraway look in his eyes, he murmured, "Must talk to Von Slickstein."

When his mind wandered, it usually took a while to return. Normally, I had time to go to the kitchen and grab a soda and a snack. This time, however, his mind reengaged with unusual swiftness.

"Penny," he said, "what were we talking about?"

"You were critiquing my diary."

"Right, right. What was I saying?"

"It might appeal to younger readers."

"Oh, absolutely. A little girl hero would be very popular with young people. I can understand why you would write it that way. However, your portrayal of Brain is way over the top. Ha, ha, ha, that dog couldn't find his way out of a paper bag without help. He's the laziest dog I've ever known."

Brain, curled up in a corner of the room, growled in his sleep.

"Anyway, your story is very well done. You write incredibly well for a ten year old."

"Uncle Gadget, I'm thirteen."

"Are you really? Kind of small, aren't you?"

"Did you have anything else to say about my diary?"

"No, not really. Did you write that for a school assignment?"

"No, no, for my future self."

"Future self? What a cute idea."

 **Chapter Four: Bon Voyage**

The girl in the mirror had fiery red hair. I marched up to her and gave her the once over. What I saw sent a chill up and down my spine. Somehow, in the middle of the night, I had acquired freckles; not painted on freckles, mind you, real freckles. "Don't be surprised," I muttered. "Was that some kind of joke?"

The mirror and I were located in the bedroom of a hotel room. No, not a hotel room, a suite; and a fancy suite at that. A young girl and a young woman were sleeping in the beds behind me. I tiptoed quietly into the living room because I didn't want to wake them. When I opened the curtains, a panoramic view of Metro City met my gaze. "Gosh," I said, "look how high we are." Taking advantage of my alone time, I searched for some clue as to who I was and why I was there. Sad to say, nothing in the drawers, closets or suitcases was of any help. And yet, that wasn't the thing that upset me the most. The nightmare induced by Dr. Claw's nightmare machine had come true. My precious computer book was nowhere to be found.

Noises emanating from of the bedroom stopped my search. The young girl ran out of the bedroom, threw her arms around my neck, held me tightly and kissed my face repeatedly. "Sophie!" she squealed. Never having been greeted in such a way, I didn't quite know how to react.

While the young girl and I were locked in a loving embrace, someone cleared their throat. We turned our heads toward the sound. A young woman, with arms crossed, and a smile on her face, said something in French to the overly-affectionate little girl. The girl reluctantly set me free. I looked from one to the other. They didn't appear to be related in any way. The young woman was petite. She had long dark hair, dark eyes, an olive complexion and what is commonly referred to as a roman nose. The young girl had red hair, fair skin and freckles. Her nose, by the way, was small like mine. "Sophie," said the young woman, "please have a seat."

The girl and I sat together on the couch. She held onto my arm, laid her head on my shoulder and purred. Obviously, I was someone very dear to her. Trying to keep my wits about me, I addressed the young woman. "Ma'am," I said, "who are you? And who is this girl?"

"This girl, as you say, is Adele," said the woman. "Adele is your cousin."

"Hello, Adele," I said. "Nice to meet you."

"Je ne comprends pas," said the girl.

"What does that mean?"

"She does not understand," said the woman.

"Neither do I."

"Repeat after me: Bonjour, Adele."

"Oh, I already know that one. Bonjour, Adele."

"Bonjour," said Adele, with a giggle. "Je suis tellement heureux de te revoir enfin."

"Huh?"

"She is happy to see you," said the woman.

"I gathered that. Are you her mother?"

"No, I am not her mother. I am her nounou."

"Nounou? What is nounou?"

"The English, I believe, is Nanny."

Adele giggled, "Nanny sonne drole."

"You are her nanny?" I said. "No, no, I mean, nounou."

"Yes," said Nounou. "I am her nounou, and your nounou as well."

"My nounou?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean I'm going to live with you?"

"Um hum."

"Wow! That's amazing."

She held up a finger. "We will talk later. Right now we must get ready. We are flying to Paris today."

Adele held my hand as we followed Nounou (pronounced Nu nu) into the bathroom. The bathroom had ivory colored walls and ornate gold fixtures. Nounou turned on the faucet in an extra-large tub and added some bubble bath. When the tub was full of hot sudsy water, Adele disrobed and stepped in. I looked at Nounou. "Sophie," she said, "please enter the tub." Though it seemed awkward to me at first, I plucked up my courage, dropped my pajamas on the floor and stepped into the tub. Nounou scrubbed us head to toe, dried us thoroughly with thick luxurious towels, massaged us with baby oil and brushed out our hair meticulously. "Sophie," she said, "relax and be pampered." Who was I to argue?

After a sumptuous bath, Nounou dressed us up like little dolls. I asked her if we had more casual clothing, and she said, "This is casual clothing." _Frilly dresses with petticoats? Stockings and ballet slippers? Huge colorful bows in our hair? You call that casual?_ That's what I was thinking. What I said was, "Oh, okay."

Monsieur Renaud was a fastidious little well-dressed man with wire rimmed glasses, short cropped hair and exceptionally large ears. From what I was told, Adele's mother would trust no other lawyer with her legal affairs. On her request, he came to Metro City to fetch me. I may be wrong, but I think you'd have to have a lot of clout to get a lawyer to do that.

A chauffeur driven limousine took us from the hotel to the airport. In the back seat of the limousine, Monsieur Renaud entertained us with jokes and simple magic tricks. His tricks were performed with panache, but his jokes weren't funny. Perhaps something was lost in the translation.

We were treated like VIPs at the Metro City airport. While porters rushed to take our bags, a neat and trim young lady in a navy blue suit escorted us past the lines to our plane. As we were making our way down the concourse, I saw Uncle Gadget coming toward us from the other direction. A teenage girl with blond hair and pigtails was walking beside him. She had a canvas satchel draped over her shoulder. "My computer book," I muttered. It took more self-control than I thought I had to keep from wrenching that satchel away from her.

Some sniffing noises and the feel of a cold nose on my hand caused me to stop and looked down. Brain was looking up at me with questions in his eyes. I knelt down and hugged him. "Brain," I whispered, "goodbye. Take good care of Penny."

He whimpered and licked my face.

"What are you doing, Brain?" said Uncle Gadget. "We don't have time to be playing."

I stood up and faced him. "Sir, is this your dog? I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. I love dogs."

"No need to be sorry, Miss. Who doesn't love dogs?"

The girl with blond pigtails tugged on his sleeve and said, "Uncle Gadget, our plane leaves in ten minutes."

"Right you are, Penny." With a tip of his hat and an exaggerated bow, he said, "Good day to you all. Penny, Brain, time is of the essence."

Before disappearing down the concourse, Brain turned around and saluted. A tear rolled down my cheek. Nounou took my hand and led me away.

 **Chapter Five: Across the Sea**

A tall, slender, elegant and exquisitely dressed woman with fiery red hair tends to stand out in a crowd. Such was Adele's mother. When we met at the airport in Paris, she knelt down, hugged me and kissed my face. Her pretty blue eyes were full of sympathy and compassion. "Sophie," she said, "how do you feel?"

"Ma'am, I feel fine."

"Please call me Chantal."

"Yes, ma'am. Um… I mean, Chantal."

"How do you like Adele?"

"J'adore Adele."

A smile lit up her pretty freckled face. "I knew you would."

"She is teaching me how to speak French."

"How is that coming?"

"I am giving it my best effort."

"You will be speaking like a native in no time."

"I hope so."

"Are you ready to see your new home?"

"Yes, yes I am. Thank you for being so kind to me."

"Sophie, my dear, we are happy to have you with us."

It was thrilling to be in Paris once again. In the backseat of a chauffeur driven Mercedes, we traveled through the heart of town. My face was plastered against the backseat window. The Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and all of the other famous landmarks brought back so many wonderful memories. Before I knew it, we were driving through the gates of a very large estate. As the car meandered through the beautifully manicured grounds, a large mansion appeared before my eyes. It was a fairytale mansion, like nothing I had ever seen before. "If this is a dream," I said. "I do not want to wake up."

I kept a diary from day one. It wasn't an exciting diary like the diary I left behind in Metro City, unless you consider skiing in the Alps, yachting and wind surfing along the Cote D'Azur, and hobnobbing with the rich and famous in Monte Carlo exciting.

Adele and I were inseparable. We did everything together, except ballet. I didn't want to give the other girls in the class a reason to taunt 'la fille maladroit'. That would have upset Adele more than it would have upset me. It was important for Adele to devote all of her attention to dancing without distraction. In my opinion, she was a prodigy. Every arabesque, cabriole, pirouette, et cetera, were exquisite. Watching her was truly a privilege. I was thoroughly enchanted.

High society luncheons, dinners and cocktail parties were happening weekly, whether in Paris, Geneva, Monte Carlo or wherever the upper classes were gathering at the moment. As a rich and beautiful widow, Chantal attracted admirers like flies to honey. However, she didn't seem to relish the attention. If one of her admirers approached her at a party, Adele and I would suddenly find ourselves front and center. Nounou's etiquette lessons came in handy in those situations. When I first arrived in Paris, I was really quite awkward. Thank goodness for amnesia or they would have been wondering about my upbringing.

But enough of that. You don't really want to hear about our domestic arrangements, do you? You want mystery and intrigue, right? Well, it just so happens, I do have a little story you might find interesting.

The Marquis de Lafayette appeared on the social scene sometime during my second year in Paris. Obviously, the name was an alias. I recognized him immediately. When someone hand-cuffs you to a pipe and leaves you hanging, you don't easily forget. Around the time of his appearance, rumors of thefts began; a ring here, a bracelet there, an occasional wallet. I knew it had to be him, but who could I tell? As luck would have it, the right person crossed my path at just the right time.

When were weren't horseback riding, involved in various school activities, or playing sports and games, Adele and I loved to shop. We didn't need anything. We just enjoyed shopping. As we were strolling along the Avenue de Champs-Elysees one Saturday afternoon, we noticed a teenage girl with blond pigtails heading in our direction. She appeared to be searching for an address. As the three of us were converging, a large truck with a MAD logo painted on the side sped by on the avenue. The truck was followed closely by a dog on roller skates. The dog was wearing a black shirt and a black mask. Shortly after, Uncle Gadget skated by. He was blowing a whistle and the red light on his hat was flashing.

Adele stopped and stared. "Ha, ha, ha, Regardez ce chien," she said. "Coup d'oeil à lui aller."

"Son nom est Brain," I said.

"Qui a nom est Brain?"

"Le chien de patinage de rouleau."

The girl with blond pigtails tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she said. "Did you say Brain?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle," I said. "The dog his name is Brain."

"How did you know?"

"I saw him in the Metro City airport. He was with that man in the trench-coat."

"You have a good memory."

"No, not really."

"No?"

"Sophie has amnesia," said Adele.

"Adele," I said, "do not tell."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you twins?" asked the girl with the blond pigtails.

"No, no," I said. "We are cousins."

"You look like twins."

"No, no, she is taller, see?"

"Yes. She is taller, now that you mention it."

"Mademoiselle, what is your name?"

"Penny."

"I am Sophie and this is Adele."

"Wait a minute. You remembered Brain and Uncle Gadget. Why didn't you remember me?"

"I did remember you."

"Huh?"

"I did not know your name. That is all."

"I see."

"Can I help you find something, Mademoiselle Penny?"

"How did you know I was looking for something?"

"When you were coming toward us you were…"

A piece of paper was thrust in front of my face. "This address."

I looked the paper over. "Hmm, let us see. You are not too far from where you want to be. We can take you there if you like."

"If you don't mind my asking, aren't you a little young to be wandering around alone?"

 _Funny thing for you to say._ I turned around and pointed down the street. "Do you see those two people over by that shop?"

"Which people?"

"The pretty lady and the man in the chauffeur's uniform."

"Oh yes, I see them."

"That is Nounou and Jacques." I smiled and waved and they smiled and waved back.

"Nounou? What is Nounou? Is that her name?"

"No, no. Nounou is how we say Nanny."

"A nanny and a chauffeur? Gosh, you must be rich."

"Mademoiselle Penny, could you not tell by our clothes?"

"Well I…"

"Oh, an ice cream shop. Join us for ice cream?"

"Sure. Okay."

We found a table in the ice cream shop and ordered ice cream sundaes. Nounou and Jacques followed us inside and sat at a table nearby. Penny placed her satchel on the chair next to her. I was tempted to grab it and run.

"Sophie," said Penny, "I don't mean to pry. Well, I guess I do actually. How does one get amnesia?"

"They will not tell me."

"Who will not tell you?"

"Anybody, everybody."

"I see."

"It is not normal amnesia, I am told. I have memories; but when I talk about the things that I have done, they tell me it is not so."

A young waitress brought our sundaes to the table. We made pleasurable noises as we began to gobble them up. Nounou stopped by our table on her way to the restroom. We introduced her to Penny. If she noticed anything familiar about Penny, she didn't let on.

"Mademoiselle Penny," I said, "where are you from?"

"Metro City."

"Sophie," said Adele, "that is…"

"Yes, I am also from Metro City."

"Really?" asked Penny.

"After my parents died, Adele's mother brought me here to Paris."

"My uncle did the same for me when my parents died."

"He brought you to Paris?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean he takes care of me."

"Oh, that is what you mean."

"Sophie, do you miss anything about Metro City?"

"Mademoiselle Penny, I live in the lap of luxury. What would I miss?"

"There must be something."

"Well, I suppose my foster parents were nice."

"Sophie," said Adele, shaking her head, "vous n'aviez pas parents d'accueil."

"C'est faux?"

"Oui."

"Apparently, I never had foster parents, even though I remember them."

"This is a fascinating situation," said Penny.

"Let us talk of something else. Mademoiselle Penny, you know the man in the trench-coat?"

"Yes. The man in the trench-coat is my uncle."

"Pourquoi est-ce qu'il poursuivait le chien vers le bas de l'avenue?" asked Adele.

"Speak slower and maybe I'll get it."

"I am sorry. My mouth runs away from my brain sometimes. Why was the man chasing the dog?"

"The man wasn't chasing the dog."

"No?"

"He was chasing the bad guys in the truck."

"Chasing the bad guys?"

"Yes. He's a detective. A very famous detective, I might add."

"It is funny you should mention detectives," I said. "I have been looking for a detective."

"Have you?"

"Perhaps you can help me?"

"I'll try."

"There is a man who is pretending to be the Marquis de Lafayette, but he is really Monsieur LaDip the pickpocket."

"Monsieur LaDip the pickpocket? How do you know?"

"I saw him when we were in Cannes for the film festival."

"How did you know it was him?"

"I saw him picking pockets and followed him."

"How brave of you."

"N'encouragent pas sa s'il vous plaît," muttered Adele.

"What did she say?"

"Do not encourage me," I said.

"Right. What happened after you followed him?"

"He stopped and talked with some people. I heard them call him Monsieur LaDip."

"Sophie," said Adele, "was that the time you chased the dog and disappeared?"

"Yes."

"You did not mention a criminal."

"No, I did not."

"I hope Nounou does not find out."

At that moment, Nounou just happened to be standing behind me. "Too late," she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I just about jumped out of my skin. "Sophie, tell your friend goodbye."

"But Nounou," I whined, "I was already punished for this."

"Tell your friend goodbye."

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle Penny."

On the way home in the Mercedes, Nounou gave me a stern lecture about lying and other important things young ladies shouldn't do like snooping. It wasn't the first or the last time I heard that lecture.

About a week later, a fancy party was held in the ballroom of a local five star hotel. All of Paris society was there, and some interesting gate-crashers as well. Uncle Gadget was strolling around causing little bits of mayhem wherever he appeared. Penny was wearing a pretty pink dress. Her pigtails were braided, which I thought looked nice. Brain, disguised as a waiter, was carrying a tray of cocktails around the room. When I saw him, I just had to hug him. The drink tray balanced on his paw teetered. Penny caught the tray before any drinks were spilled.

She set the tray down on a table. "Gosh," she said, "I've never seen anyone react to Brain that way."

"Ruh Roh," said Brain, imitating his favorite cartoon canine."

"Is something wrong, Brain?"

He shook his head. "Uh uh."

"Good old Brain," I whispered, squeezing him tightly.

"Are we going to catch some thieves now?" asked Adele.

"No," said Penny. "We're just watching."

"Watching is an important part of detective work," I said. "All the great detectives are good watchers."

"How do you know?" asked Adele.

"I read about it in a book."

"Everyone on the team has a different part to play," said Penny.

"Are we a team?" asked Adele.

I jumped to my feet, thrust my hand in the air and shouted, "Les trois mousquetaires!"

"Un pour tous et tous pour un!" shouted Adele.

"Liberte, egalite, fraternite!" shouted Penny.

"Viva la France!" shouted the Marquis de Lafayette, as he was passing by. He stopped and turned his head. "Ah," he said, in a softer more ingratiating voice, "the famous Belerose twins. And who is this? Another sister?"

"No, monsieur," I said. "Penny is a friend." I kicked myself for mentioning her name.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Do I know you, Mademoiselle? Have we met before?"

"No sir," said Penny.

"Ah, no matter. I meet so many people. It is hard to remember them all." A man came up to him and whispered in his ear. When the man was gone, he turned again to us. "Alas, I have been called away. I must bid you adieu." With a bow, he hurried away.

"That is him," I whispered.

"I know," whispered Penny.

"You believe me?"

"I hope you don't mind, but I did some double checking on my own."

"Just what I would expect from an ace detective."

"No, no, I'm not a detective. My uncle is a detective."

"Right. Of course."

Penny put a hand on Brain's shoulder, pointed at the retreating marquis and said, "Brain, keep an eye on that man."

Brain saluted and ran off.

"This place is ripe for the picking," I said. "Look at all the jewels."

"Will he steal my ring?" asked Adele.

"Not while Madame Beauvine's necklace is begging for attention." The massive matriarch's ostentatious diamonds were giving ostentation a bad name.

"I like your rings," said Penny.

"Chantal gave them to us so she could tell us apart."

"But they're exactly the same."

"No, no, no. Mine has an S and Adele's has an A, see?"

"She must have good eyes."

"Speaking of good eyes, Nounou is signaling. I am sorry, Mademoiselle Penny, we must go."

"I must go too, but I'll be back soon."

Adele and I went one way and Penny went another.

Nounou ran a lint remover over my dress and sighed, "Sophie, where did you find a dog in a place like this?"

"He is Mademoiselle Penny's dog."

"Mademoiselle Penny should not have brought her dog to this place."

"He is not an ordinary dog."

"Sophie, a dog is a dog."

"I am sorry, Nounou."

"Sophie, you are a child who loves dogs. I understand. However, if you could get the idea in that scatterbrained little head of yours, there is a time and a place for everything. There is a time to play with dogs and there is a time to not play with dogs. Have a little self-control. That is all I ask."

"I will try my best."

"I know you will. Now give me a hug."

Although Nounou could be strict, she always made me feel loved.

Sometime during the evening, someone gave me a teddy bear. I can't for the life of me remember who it was. Even though I was busy socializing, I still kept an eye out for thieves. After a while, I began to think that nothing was going to happen. Just as I was thinking those thoughts, the lights went out. Somebody screamed, "Keep your hands off me!" Yelling and loud crashing sounds echoed around the room. The lights came back on. Madame Beauvine's diamond necklace was missing. The place was in an uproar. Uncle Gadget immediately took charge. "Don't anybody move," he shouted. "The culprit is undoubtedly still in this room." Everybody watched him anxiously. He circled the room with his steely gaze. The tension was palpable. He pointed a finger at me and said, "This is your culprit. The necklace is hidden in her teddy bear." He grabbed my teddy and ripped it to shreds. I burst into tears and ran into Nounou's arms. Uncle Gadget was unfazed by his failure, my tears and Chantal's biting wit.

Meanwhile, the Marquis had disappeared. Fortunately, the police staked out all the exits. The Marquis and his accomplices were apprehended with jewels and wallets and, of course, Madame Beauvine's ostentatious necklace in their possession. That is what I read in the newspaper the next day anyway.

Uncle Gadget, however, was still holding the party hostage with all of his gadgets on full display. Eventually, a local police inspector entered the ball room and approached Uncle Gadget. "Inspector," he said, "I have something very important to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait?" said Uncle Gadget. "I'm in the middle of a case."

The inspector put an arm around Uncle Gadget's shoulder. "It is regarding this case that I must speak with you."

"A consultation, eh? Good idea."

When the inspector and Uncle Gadget departed, the party continued unabated.

Penny appeared behind us. She asked, "Did I miss something?"

Adele told her all about it, as if she didn't already know.

 **Chapter Six: Out in the Open**

Chantal was an artist. Her studio, gallery and office took up most of the first floor of the mansion. She wasn't a dilettante, however, she was very serious about her work; and people who new art took her work very seriously. Adele and I sat for her many times. Red paint was brought in by the truckload. Ha, ha, ha, just kidding. My favorite series of paintings were of Adele the ballerina; one painting every year from the time she started dancing at the age of three. The paintings captured perfectly the motion and magic of her dancing. I spent many hours enraptured by those wonderful works of art.

We traveled all over Europe. I made new friends in every city. Some of my friends corresponded with me, so it wasn't unusual to receive a letter now and then. Jean the butler approaching with a letter on a silver tray was something I eagerly anticipated. One day I received a letter which took me by surprise. It was a letter demanding a large sum of money in exchange for his or her silence. After reading it over several times, I did what any reasonable little girl would do. I gave it to Chantal. She sighed and shook her head.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It is what you Americans call a shakedown," she said. "Unfortunately, this type of thing is not uncommon when you are rich. That is why we have Monsieur Renaud."

"How did they find out about me?"

"Your father was a famous and successful entrepreneur."

"Is that why he died?"

"Sophie, we will not talk about your father."

"Why not?"

"The doctors say you are not ready. The least little disturbance will cause harm. It has already… never mind. Run along now, and forget all about it."

Forgetting was easier said than done. Late that night, I heard, "Sophie, Sophie, Sophie," coming out of the fog. I awoke to find Adele shaking me. I squinted at her and mumbled, "Huh?"

"Sophie, you were shouting in your sleep."

I sat up in the bed and rubbed my eyes. "I was shouting?"

"Um hmm."

"Shouting? Oh, now I remember. I had a weird dream."

"Tell me about it."

"Do you really want to hear?"

"Of course."

"Okay. I was surrounded by a whole bunch of people. I do not know who they were. I could not see their faces. They were pointing at me and yelling, "Fraud, fraud, fraud," over and over again. It was scary."

"What is fraud?"

"It is like fake or pretend or… You know, maybe I am a fraud." I grabbed her shoulders. "Am I a fraud?"

"Now, now, Sophie, my dear, calm down." She liked to play the older sister, even though we were supposed to be the same age. "If I remember rightly, _you_ did not know who you were. _We_ told you who you were."

I marveled at her insight. "Adele, how old are you?"

"Thirteen. Why?"

"Just double checking."

"Sophie, you are so funny."

She pounced on me and knocked me over on my back. We wrestled and giggled on the bed until we tired ourselves out and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Blackmail demands arrived weekly for about a month and a half and became more menacing with each letter. Each letter was dutifully given to Chantal and she passed it on to Monsieur Renaud. Blackmail was something I had never dealt with before, so I was curious to see just how the blackmailer was planning to expose me. It turns out, I didn't have to wait long for the answer.

Nounou, Adele and I were lounging on the second floor balcony. It was a beautiful day and the sun was shining. We were allowed to wear swimsuits on the balcony or at the pool, but they had to be modest one piece suits. The skimpy bikinis I wore when I vacationed with Uncle Gadget would never have been permitted.

Jean the butler appeared in front of us. At that time, he was about eighty years old, and had been in the family since time immemorial. Though he shuffled with he walked, he was as quiet as a mouse.

"Madame wishes to speak with you," he said, in a bland sort of way.

"Me?" I asked. "She wants to speak with me?"

"All of you."

"Why?"

"She did not say."

"Thank you, Monsieur Jean."

"Eleven o'clock in her office." Having done his duty, he moved slowly away.

"Eleven o'clock?" said Nounou. "That only gives me an hour to get you ready."

As you can see, getting us ready took some time. We weren't allowed to just wander around the house any old way. It just wasn't done.

The three of us arrived in Chantal's office at precisely eleven o'clock. Her office was a light and airy corner office with floor to ceiling windows on two sides. The view of the grounds was magnificent. Her furniture was contemporary and very expensive. She was sitting at her desk when we arrived. She took my hand and said, "Sophie, there has been a new development."

"A new development?"

"A lawyer named Monsieur Chaput has filed a lawsuit."

"A lawsuit?"

"He says he has the real Sophie Belerose."

"The real Sophie Belerose?"

Adele threw her arms around me and screamed, "No! They cannot take Sophie away from me!"

"Do not worry, Adele," said Chantal. "Nobody is going to take Sophie away."

"But, but, but," I said. "What if I am not Sophie Belerose?"

"Sophie," said Nounou, "do not say such things."

"Why?"

"I do not like it."

"Then I will not say it."

"Sophie, my dear," said Chantal, "this is only a minor annoyance. Do not worry your pretty little head."

The hearing was held in May of 1989. Chantal invited all of her friends and acquaintances. "Monsieur Chaput has been seeking a settlement," she said. "The fool would have me avoid the embarrassment. Ha! He does not know me." So many people attended the hearing, they had to move it to a larger room. You have to have a lot of clout to get that kind of thing done, right?

The room was like an amphitheater. The judge sat behind a large desk on a dais in the middle. Two tables were facing the judge's desk. Chantal, Adele, Nounou and Monsieur Renaud were with me at one table. Two men and a little girl were at the other table. The little girl had red hair and freckles. The audience filled up the seats around the perimeter.

Chantal pointed at one of the men at the other table and said, "That is Monsieur Chaput."

"Is he the blackmailer?" I asked.

"We do not know."

"The blackmailer is clever," said Monsieur Renaud. "Though we have consulted many experts, they were not able to identify him."

"But he is right there, is he not?" asked Adele.

"We cannot prove it."

"Does not bringing this suit kind of…?"

"You might think so, but no."

"So we have go through with this charade," said Chantal.

"He did not want to, but we called his bluff."

Monsieur Chaput was tall and thin with dark deep-set shifty eyes, a prominent chin and a long thin mustache. When the time came for the hearing to begin, he stood up, grasped his lapels and eyed the crowd with an air of the theatrical. He pointed a finger in my direction and said, "That little girl. Do you see her? Do you see that little girl? She looks so innocent, does she not? Do not believe it. She is not innocent, not by a long shot. Take a good look at her and hear what I have to say. That little girl. That little girl, I say. No, not that one, the other one; the one on the left; the smaller one. That little girl is an imposter. An imposter, I say. And not only an imposter. She is a notorious spy, fraud, trickster and con artist. Through subterfuge. Subterfuge, I say, of the most heinous kind. Through subterfuge she cunningly wormed her way into the situation which rightfully belongs to my client. But that is not all. That is certainly not all. I tell you it gets much worse; much, much worse. Nefarious forces are involved in this subterfuge. What nefarious forces, you ask? Well, since you ask, I will tell you. None other than the famous crime boss Dr. Claw is behind this. You heard me right. Dr. Claw. Dr. Claw, I say, is behind this crime."

I couldn't allow that to pass unchallenged, so I jumped to my feet. "Yes," I squeaked. "It is true. I am a spy. But I do not work for Dr. Claw. I work for the good guys." The room erupted with laughter. There was laughter, laughter and more laughter all around me. Even the judge was laughing. Adele stood up and yelled, "Do not laugh!" She was not heard. We sat down together. Monsieur Chaput shouted above the din, "Did you not hear? She confessed." Nobody paid him any mind.

"Very clever, Sophie," said Chantal, patting my hand. "You made him look ridiculous."

Nounou shook her head and sighed, "Sophie, Sophie, Sophie…"

The judge was a grandfatherly sort of roly-poly fellow with white hair and a white beard. When order was restored, and the room was quiet, he said, "I find it unlikely that this imaginative young lady is either a notorious spy or an operative for a criminal organization. If she was delivered to Madame Belerose by mistake, it was through no fault of her own. From this time forward, we will adhere to the facts and forgo any wild accusations."

"Your honor," said Monsieur Chaput, "I have evidence."

"What type of evidence?"

"Photographic evidence."

"Show it to me."

Monsieur Chaput took an envelope up to the judge's desk. Monsieur Renaud followed him. The judge slipped some photographs out of the envelope and looked each one over carefully. "Monsieur Chaput," he said, "what is this supposed to prove?"

"Your honor," said Monsieur Chaput, "these photographs prove that the defendant is an operative for a criminal organization."

"That is a lot to ask from a few photographs. I see a little girl and some men who may or may not be criminals. Also, I have no way of knowing the identity of the little girl in these photographs. In fact, I could probably find a girl like this in every grade school in the city. Do you have any other evidence? Some witnesses perhaps?"

"Yes, I do." He turned and pointed toward the other man at his table. "This is my witness. His name is Monsieur Petit."

At this point, Monsieur Chaput and Monsieur Renaud returned to their respective tables.

"Monsieur Petit," said the judge, "what do you have to say?"

Monsieur Petit stood up. He was a massive man with a large head and beady eyes. He was wearing a pink sweater and a brown beret. I recognized him as the man who captured me and locked me up in a submarine several years before. _He is supposed to be in jail. How did he get out?_

"Your honor," said Monsieur Petit, "I worked a job with this young lady several years ago."

"Which young lady?"

"The defendant, your honor."

"Go on."

"We worked for Dr. Claw."

"Dr. Claw? Monsieur Chaput mentioned Dr. Claw. Who is Dr. Claw?"

"Dr. Claw is an entrepreneur."

"An entrepreneur? Monsieur Chaput said he was a crime boss."

"Monsieur Chaput was mistaken."

"I see. How long ago did this alleged job take place?"

"Six years ago, I believe."

"Six years?" The judge turned and spoke to our lawyer. "Monsieur Renaud, how old is your client?"

"My client is thirteen," said Monsieur Renaud.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Kind of small, is she not?"

"Yes, you honor."

The judge returned his attention to the witness. "Monsieur Petit, does this Dr. Claw make a habit of hiring small children?"

"Your honor," said Monsieur Petit, "the young lady is much older that she appears."

"Older than she appears? How much older?"

"If my calculations are correct, she must be at least twenty four years old by now."

The explosion of laughter was so loud I had to cover my ears. Minutes went by before the cacophony died down. When order was restored, the judge said to the witness, "Monsieur Petit, did you come here to make a mockery of this hearing?"

"No, your honor. I came here to expose a fraud."

I jumped to my feet and shouted, "Monsieur, I must defend myself."

The room went silent. The judge smiled and said, "Would anybody object if I had a little chat with this young lady? Monsieur Chaput?"

"No, your honor."

"Monsieur Renaud?"

"No, your honor."

"Monsieur Petit, have a seat. Mademoiselle, come sit next to me."

On wobbly knees, I made my way to the judge's desk and sat where he indicated. "Monsieur," I said, "I never worked for Dr. Claw. I always worked against him."

"Calm down, my dear."

"Monsieur, I am calm."

"I would like to ask you a few questions. Would that be okay?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I do not mind."

"You claim to be a spy. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I am a spy. I work for an international spy organization."

"Will you tell me the name of the organization?"

"No Monsieur."

"Were you sworn to secrecy?"

"No Monsieur. I do not know the name of the organization."

"I see." He picked up a photograph from off of his desk and showed it to me. "Do you recognize the girl in this photograph?"

"Yes, Monsieur. It is me."

"It is you?"

"I was Inspector Gadget's niece at the time."

"Oh!" He slapped his hand on the desk. "I knew I had seen that girl somewhere." He reached over and patted my hand. "My dear, do not take this the wrong way, but I met this girl and she was not you."

"Yes Monsieur, I know. I was replaced."

"Is this you in the photograph, or your replacement?"

"It is me."

Adele stood up and raised her hand.

"What is it, my dear?" asked the judge.

"Monsieur," she said, "Sophie and I know Penny. She is our friend."

"And you are?"

"I am Adele, Sophie's cousin."

"Thank you for your contribution, my dear."

"You are welcome, Monsieur."

The judge turned to me and said, "That will be all, my dear. You may step down."

When I returned to my seat, Chantal and Adele hugged me and made a fuss over me. It was as if they hadn't heard one word I had said.

At this point in the proceeding, the judge made an announcement. He said, "I would like to adjourn this hearing and reschedule after the defendant has undergone a thorough psychological examination."

Monsieur Renaud stood up and said, "Your honor, my client has already undergone a thorough psychological examination."

"Has she? Why was this evidence not brought forward?"

"We did not consider it necessary."

"What was the result of the examination?"

"My client, Mademoiselle Belerose, is a harmless space cadet."

"Space cadet is not a psychological term, Monsieur Renaud."

"I have been to space," I said, "and I have been to the moon."

"Nevertheless," said the judge, "it does seem applicable."

Monsieur Chaput rose to his feet. "You honor," he said, "I fail to see what bearing the defendant's mental state has on this case."

"I will answer, if I may," said Monsieur Renaud.

"By all means," said the judge.

"It is our contention that Monsieur Chaput and his client are merely exploiting my client's vivid imagination for financial gain."

"I object," said Monsieur Chaput. "My client and I…"

The door burst open and a woman shouted, "Where is she? Where is my daughter? Is she in here?" Upon hearing the woman, the little girl sitting next to Monsieur Chaput ducked under the table. The woman spotted her, dragged her out from under the table and set her on her feet. "Brigitte," she said, "what are you doing here? I have been looking all over for you."

"Not now, mother," said the girl. "He has not paid me yet."

Needless to say, the judgement came down in favor of the defendant.

 **Chapter Seven: All Good Things, et cetera, et cetera…**

The girl in the mirror was a brunette, without even one little freckle anywhere. She was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. As I was looking her over, I said, to myself, "Now that's what I call casual."

The window in the hotel room was open and the curtains drawn back. I could see the Eiffel Tower from where I was standing. The t-shirt, jeans and sneakers were found in a suitcase, where I also found a purse. In the purse were a Canadian passport with my real name and age, a credit card and some cash. "So I'm myself again," I said. "I wonder what that means."

While I was brushing out my hair, someone knocked on the door. When I opened the door, a young man with wavy blond hair was standing before me. His smile was friendly and his blue eyes sparkled.

"Pierre?"

"Hello, Wendy. May I come in?"

"Shouldn't you be coming through the window?"

"Very funny."

He followed me into the room. We sat opposite each other on separate beds. I was nervous and excited. I could finally talk to somebody about my work.

"Pierre, there's a mole…"

"Caught him. Thanks to you."

"Who…?"

"Can't tell you."

"Par for the course. Now what?"

"You disappear."

"Where?"

"Shhh, the walls have ears."

"Oh, right, right. Mum's the word."

What a disappointment. I couldn't talk to him after all.

I crossed my arms and stared out the window. The beautiful view of Paris brought forward the thoughts I had been fighting to keep back. Pierre handed me a note. The note read: "Wait one hour. Meet Aunt Jane in lobby. Eat this note."

"Will this make me grow?"

"Not that I know of."

 _He didn't get the joke_. I put the note in my mouth and chewed. It tasted like strawberries.

Pierre jumped to his feet and walked quickly to the door. As he was twisting the knob, I stopped him.

"Wait, Pierre. What if I run away?"

"She won't know you."

" _Who_ won't know me?"

"The one you love."

"The one I…?"

"Listen, sweetheart, this happens to all of us. We're not made of cold hard steel, though we pretend to be."

I felt for my ring and realized it was gone. _They don't miss a detail, do they?_

The door clicked shut. I buried my face in a pillow and cried. An hour later, I dried my tears, plucked up my courage and ran downstairs to meet Aunt Jane.

 **Epilogue**

The Smith family in London, Ontario took me in and made me feel right at home. So much so, I haven't left, though I've earned enough money to move out on my own. Not one to be idle, I went to college, earned a degree in education, and became an elementary school teacher. Do you think it's odd that I would become an elementary school teacher after spending so many years in elementary school? If so, you are right. It is odd. Perhaps my high regard for Nounou influenced me somehow.

Teaching first graders offers many challenges. More often than not, I am mistaken for a student. The little darlings think it's hilarious, no matter how often it happens. Oh how they laugh, ha, ha, ha, ha…

It has been years since I've heard from that mysterious spy organization. I suppose that makes me a sleeper. That's the right term, isn't it? Still, they might need me someday. I could be whisked away without a moment's notice. That thought, by the way, is exciting and scary at the same time. I'm comfortable now and don't really want to be whisked away. The trouble is, if they did whisk me away, I wouldn't be able to stop them. I tell my students to think long and hard before making a decision. Consider every option, weigh the pros and cons, sleep on it, et cetera, et cetera. And yet, after all that, it still might not work out the way you want it to. Even the most diligently thought out plans can come back to bite you. My students are so cute. They just stare at me when I get up on my soapbox. They don't understand a word I'm saying; but maybe, just maybe they'll remember when they're older.

No, I don't regret my decision. I went to interesting places, saw interesting things and met interesting people. That being said, I keep a sharp eye out for snoopers and tattlers. I feel it's my duty to discourage that sort of behavior. You never know where it might lead.

 **The End**


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